


wonder

by katierosefun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Eventual Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Pre-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun
Summary: Obi-Wan woke up suddenly.For a moment, he wasn’t sure why. His quarters were dark, and he didn’t see or feel anything particularly threatening, but then he heard the terrible retching, and then he was staggering up to his feet, his legs briefly getting tangled in his sheets as he tried to get to the door.[or: Anakin's sick, and still-getting-used-to-having-an-apprentice-Obi-Wan-Kenobi handles it. Tries to handle it.]
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 19
Kudos: 315





	wonder

Obi-Wan woke up suddenly.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure why. His quarters were dark, and he didn’t see or _feel_ anything particularly threatening, but then he heard the terrible retching, and then he was staggering up to his feet, his legs briefly getting tangled in his sheets as he tried to get to the door.

Obi-Wan threw the sheets clumsily back to the bed and slid open the door to the main living space of the shared quarters with his apprentice. The overhead lights were still turned off, but it didn’t matter—the beam of white coming from the partially-open refresher door provided enough light for Obi-Wan to make his way around the room.

He heard the retching again, followed this time by a small, just barely muffled groan.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called, swiping the sleep from his eyes with a hand. He slid the rest of the door aside so that it was fully open and found himself looking down at his young apprentice’s crumpled form, head just barely resting on the edge of the toilet seat.

Obi-Wan’s heart plunged as he knelt down beside the small boy.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, pushing a hand up to Anakin’s cheek, feeling the dry crackling heat there. He moved his hand upwards, sweeping through Anakin’s sweat-soaked hair. Obi-Wan’s head raced with any signs or symptoms he might have missed in the last few hours—Anakin hadn’t _seemed_ off, just a little tired.

But Obi-Wan had been tired too—that was what they both got after grueling through nearly three hours of digging through the Archives. Their day in the Archives had been a somewhat troubling one, mostly because Anakin had kept getting distracted by the spare parts he always seemed to have around with him. And Obi-Wan had tried—he had _tried_ —to keep Anakin focused the best he could, but at the end of the day, Anakin was just a ten year old boy who could care less about what the philosophy texts had to offer.

They had been frustrated with each other: Obi-Wan knew that much, from the way Anakin had sullenly dragged his feet through the halls, and after dinner, Anakin had said that he just wanted to sleep. And Obi-Wan had spent the next half-hour trying to meditate, only to find that he couldn’t, not when his thoughts kept wandering to what _Qui-Gon_ would have done—

“Master?” Anakin’s voice was slurred. He tilted his face up towards Obi-Wan, eyes fluttering open. And then he let out a small whine, squeezing his eyes shut.

 _The light_ , Obi-Wan realized. He reached up to lower the lights, relieved to find Anakin opening his eyes again.

“You’re ill,” Obi-Wan said, and he felt stupid saying so, because of course Anakin was ill, and he was sure Anakin knew that too. He became aware of the sour smell of vomit and bile in the refresher, and without looking inside the toilet itself, he reached up to flush the mess away. As the water swirled, Obi-Wan gently tugged Anakin back so he wouldn’t get splashed.

Anakin’s head lolled back into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, dazed. Obi-Wan saw some vomit still at the corner of Anakin’s lips, and unwilling to jostle Anakin any further, Obi-Wan called on the Force to bring down a small towel.

Anakin remained still as Obi-Wan wiped away the vomit, his eyes closing and opening slowly. Obi-Wan could feel the heat seeping through Anakin’s clothes, right into his own.

“Do you want to stay here?” Obi-Wan asked at last, flicking his eyes to the toilet.

It took a moment for Obi-Wan to realize that the little shift of Anakin’s head against his shoulder was meant to be a _no_.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said. He looked out the refresher door. Anakin’s room was on the other side of the hall—

“I threw up in my room,” Anakin said in a small voice.

Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin. The boy’s eyes were fever-glazed, but there was a definite fear there, a guilt that interlaced with Obi-Wan’s own. “I’m sorry,” Anakin said, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t wanna…”

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said quickly. He looked down at Anakin’s sweat-drenched clothes. “A change might help, don’t you think so?”

Another shift of the head that Obi-Wan interpreted as a nod of agreement.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said. “In the meantime…” He slipped one hand down Anakin’s back, the other under Anakin’s bent legs. “Vomit the other way if you have to.”

“I won’t,” Anakin mumbled, but still, Obi-Wan noticed that he still shifted his head away as Obi-Wan stood up. He carried Anakin to his chest, careful not to knock Anakin’s legs or his head into the refresher doorframe. Obi-Wan considered carrying Anakin to the healers right then and there, but clothes—Obi-Wan had offered to get him clothes first.

Obi-Wan walked to his own room and settled Anakin down on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right back,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin only nodded back up at him, too weak to say anything else.

That disturbed Obi-Wan—the boy was often talkative, often asking more questions than Obi-Wan could keep up with, and now, the strange silence was something Obi-Wan was not used to. And then Obi-Wan felt that guilt needle into him again, just as blindingly hot as Anakin’s fever was. He should have _known_ —

Obi-Wan probably deserved the rancid smell that was Anakin’s room when he finally walked in. He saw the puddle formed right next to Anakin’s bed, and his stomach pitched—not because of nausea—at the image of boy crawling to the edge of the bed to keep from vomiting all over himself. The thin trail of saliva and vomit from the mattress was enough to tell Obi-Wan just how much Anakin had been just barely keeping himself contained.

Obi-Wan would have to clean that later. He could get started while Anakin changed, finish the clean-up after he deposited Anakin into the healers’ wing.

But for now, Obi-Wan turned to the small closet. There weren’t too many clothes there, but he easily found a spare tunic, a spare set of pants.

Obi-Wan folded the clothes over his am and shot the mess of Anakin’s bed another look. The puddle seemed to have grown a little larger since the first time Obi-Wan had seen it.

He walked out of Anakin’s room and towards his own.

He found Anakin still sitting on the edge of his bed, head hanging low.

“Here,” Obi-Wan said, passing Anakin the clothes.

Anakin took the clothes, and under the light filtering into the room, Obi-Wan could see the young boy biting his lip, eyebrows drawn together tightly.

“Do you think you might get sick again?” Obi-Wan asked, already looking around for a wastebasket.

“No,” Anakin said quietly. He bit down on his lip again. “Are you mad at me?”

Obi-Wan blinked.

“No,” he replied. “Anakin— _no_. I’m not—”

“Because I wasn’t concentrating earlier,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan could see the boy’s cheek hollow out from where Anakin was biting down so hard. “And I’m sorry, I promise I’ll try harder—I _promise_ I’ll be good, I’m really _trying_ —” The boy was working himself into a frenzy of fever babble, and Obi-Wan knew by the glisten in Anakin’s eyes that this would not end well.

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan said, quickly lowering himself so that they were eye-to-eye. “Stop.”

Anakin, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, stopped. But Obi-Wan could still make out that glisten in his Padawan’s eyes.

“I am _not_ mad at you,” Obi-Wan said. “And I know you _are_ trying.” For a moment, he heard Master Yoda’s voice: _do or do not, there is no try_ , but Obi-Wan quickly dismissed it. He had the feeling that adage wasn’t going to be particularly helpful for the situation, no matter how wise the old master was. “But right now, I need you to change out of these clothes. That is all.” He pressed his hand lightly against the top of the heap of clothes. “Alright?”

A beat.

And then: “Alright, Master,” Anakin said, tugging at the clothes.

Obi-Wan stood up. He took a few steps back, and then he was turning around completely, closing the door behind himself. He took the few strides to Anakin’s room, and then, remembering just how much of a mess waited for him, he walked to the refresher. He watered what he hoped were enough towels and dropped them to the puddle.

Obi-Wan stripped off the sheets next, balling everything up together to be put in the wash later.

Then he settled himself down to the puddle of vomit. He picked up the wet towels, mopped up the mess the best he could in the partial darkness. He knew that he should probably turn on the light, and he would—just after he brought Anakin to the healers, where he would be surrounded by people who would actually know how to help a sick child.

And it wasn’t that Obi-Wan _didn’t_ know how to handle illnesses—he’d had experiences with his own friends, with Qui-Gon, with himself. But Anakin—

When Obi-Wan figured enough time had passed, he stood up. Walked back to the refresher, washed his hands. The smell of vomit still lingered here too.

Obi-Wan dried his hands on a towel, and then, after another moment of consideration, Obi-Wan grabbed a cup, filled it with water.

He walked back into his quarters. “You should probably—”

He stopped short to find Anakin curled up not at the foot of his bed, where Obi-Wan had left him, but at the head. He was resting on his side, face tilted to the window, the light creating parallel lines of white across his flushed face.

Obi-Wan let out a breath. He walked towards Anakin’s side, sat down slowly. He knew Anakin was awake—he felt the change in Anakin’s breathing, saw the little twitch between his brows. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan said quietly, resting a hand on Anakin’s warm shoulder. “We need to get you the healers.”

“Why?” Anakin mumbled, his eyes still closed.

“They’ll know how to help you,” Obi-Wan replied. “They know better than I do, at least.”

“You’re lying,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan paused.

Anakin opened his eyes, his head tilting back just enough so that they were looking at each other. “You’re one of the smartest Jedi _ever_ ,” Anakin said plaintively. “No one can know better than you.”

Obi-Wan pushed his hand up to Anakin’s forehead. “We need to lower your fever.”

“It’s _true_ ,” Anakin said, trying to squirm out from Obi-Wan’s hand (and failing).

“There are plenty of people who are smarter than me, young one,” Obi-Wan said. Plenty of people who were probably better equipped to handle being a teacher. Handle training the prophesized _Chosen One_ , if Qui-Gon’s premonitions were true…

“Here,” Obi-Wan said, guiding the cup of water to Anakin’s lips. “Drink slowly.”

Anakin jerked back, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna throw up again,” he said.

“You’re dehydrated,” Obi-Wan said, still holding the cup by Anakin’s lips. “You need to drink something. Just take it slowly.” He nudged the cup forward. “Come now,” he said, trying not to sound as weary as he felt, “you just said that I’m the smartest.”

Anakin squirmed a little, but he drank. Just a few sips, as promised, and then he fell back into the bed, half of his face concealed by the pillow.

“Now—”

“Don’t make me go to the healers, Master,” Anakin said, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

“You need help, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, tilting his head back to the ceiling. “Help I cannot give you.”

“Why?”

“I told you,” Obi-Wan said, closing his eyes briefly. He wondered how Qui-Gon had ever managed to deal with the stubbornness of his younger, much more irrational self. He wondered if Qui-Gon would have managed Anakin differently than he had with Obi-Wan—probably. Most likely. “There are those who know better than I do. They could help you better than I could.”

“But I don’t want them to help me,” Anakin said, his voice still garbled by the pillow. But then Obi-Wan felt a tug at his sleeve, and he opened his eyes to see Anakin’s small hand curled right where his sleeve met his wrist. “Master…”

And Obi-Wan found Anakin looking at him now, his eyes glinting a little in the faint light still filtering into the room. Face pale except for the twin flushed color in his cheeks. 

The _Chosen One_ —that was what everyone called Anakin, but right now, Obi-Wan could only see a ten year old who desperately wanted to remain in this room. And for a moment, Obi-Wan saw himself the way Anakin must have seen him: the only familiar face in the Temple.

Obi-Wan again wondered how things would have been if Qui-Gon were still alive. If Anakin perhaps would not feel this alone—this isolated from the rest of the Temple. Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon might have done a better job at encouraging Anakin to play with the other younglings, and he wondered if—

“Obi-Wan?”

Anakin’s hand was still wrapped around Obi-Wan’s sleeve. Waiting.

And then Obi-Wan said, “Wait.”

He managed to disentangle Anakin’s fingers from his sleeve. He walked out of the room. To the refresher once more, which still smelled of vomit.

He grabbed another towel, ran it through with water.

He returned to his quarters, where Anakin was still awake.

Obi-Wan slipped to the other side of the bed and guided Anakin on his back.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll still be taking you to the healers,” Obi-Wan said, setting the cool towel on Anakin’s forehead. “I would still rather we see someone.”

Anakin nodded dutifully, but Obi-Wan could see the slight smile already tugging at Anakin’s lips, and he knew that his apprentice had won this battle.

Obi-Wan had the strange feeling that this would not be the last time his apprentice would give him that smile.

“Rest, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said at last, settling his hand on Anakin’s forehead. He closed his eyes and slowly lowered himself to the mattress, turned slightly towards Anakin. Just in case something should happen.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin said, and when Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he found that Anakin was fast asleep.

Obi-Wan watched him breathe for a few moments. He wondered—

 _Stop wondering_ , he heard a voice whisper at the back of his mind. A voice that oddly didn’t sound like his own. _You will see._

Anakin shifted a little bit in his sleep, and then he turned towards Obi-Wan, arms already searching for something—someone—to latch onto. And when Anakin slung his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist, he found that he couldn’t be bothered to move. And it would be cruel to push Anakin away.

He could have sworn he heard a quiet laugh in his ear.

 _See?_ that voice whispered. _No need to wonder at all._

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't write child Anakin and Obi-Wan/immediate-post-TPM fics, but I finished reading Rogue Planet by Greg Bear the other day, and I just had all of these emotions so here we are!
> 
> Comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated!
> 
> I also on [tumblr](https://katierosefun.tumblr.com/) if you would like to scream with me about Star Wars/anything in general!


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